


The things I do for love

by dunklenacht310



Series: Scenes from a life we shared [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Canon Compliant, Choking, Cockblocking, Gay Sex, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Switching (in future parts of this series), Top Zayn, just a little, only a little little bit, typical zarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunklenacht310/pseuds/dunklenacht310
Summary: Zayn can’t believe it, when he finally sees Harry’s outfit for the AMAs.-A small two-shot featuring a totally incorrect interpretation of Zayn and Harry's behaviour during the AMAs in 2014. Harry's wearing a kurta. Zayn had never thought the moment would come in which he wouldn't want Harry to take his clothes off.Set in November 2014.





	1. Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the characters present in this work.  
> The title is an idiomatic expression, and also a quote from _Game of Thrones_.  
> 

 

 

Zayn can’t believe it, when he finally sees Harry’s outfit for the AMAs.

They’ve barely had time to even look at each other for the past few days. Between the crazy promo for the video and the absurd amount of interviews they’ve all been harassed with, Zayn and Harry have been so tired that for at least the last week, they’ve only been able to lazily crawl into bed and exchange a few sleepy kisses before going out cold on top of each other.

Zayn secretly loves those nights best anyway. Because the world spins madly on its axes, his life becomes something he doesn’t like, but one thing never changes. The way Harry’s chest feels under Zayn’s cheek, the way Harry’s fingers card through Zayn’s hair, the way Harry whispers secrets into Zayn’s ear.

Harry.

Harry laughing when Zayn fits his head right under Harry’s armpit, because that’s the most comfortable position to sleep and be glued to each other all the same.

Harry reaching for Zayn on stage to whisper in his ear, acting all casual while he tells Zayn how he’ll bend him over the couch in their hotel room and fuck him until he’s gagging on Harry’s name.

Harry blushing when Zayn smiles and tells him that afterwards Zayn will be the one fucking Harry, from behind while they both face the mirror, and Harry’s hair in his hands like the reins of a barely-tamed stallion.

Harry. Harry.

Zayn’s life seems to start and end only when Harry gives his blessing, like if Harry just suddenly changed his mind and said “Zayn, I think you should die”, then Zayn would drop dead right that second, without a single regret.

But then Harry smiles and tells him “I wish we could stay here forever” while they cuddle, sitting on the floor of a hotel balcony and away from anyone’s sight behind a concrete railing, snuggling in a blanket and in each other while they give made-up names to the stars. Harry’s favourite star is called Veronica, and if that’s cheesy, well, they’re the only ones who know.

The night before, Harry was already asleep and snoring lightly when Zayn stumbled into the room, exhausted from hours and hours of fitting clothes so that Caroline could decide the perfect outfit for him. Zayn had just crawled into bed with Harry, nestling his head under Harry’s armpit, and Harry hadn’t woken up, but had raised his arm to let Zayn plaster his chest to his side, like he knows what Zayn wants even when he’s sleeping.

That morning, Zayn wakes up to an empty bed and a text from Harry saying _They dragged me out for another bloody fitting. I’d rather fit into u tho._

Zayn chuckles, despite the shiver running up his spine at the cold left next to him by Harry’s absence, and types a reply. _Or I might have fit into u, we’ll never know now_

_It’s been ages Z I want you to fuck me tnite_

Zayn shivers, and this time it’s got nothing to do with the cold. _Yeah. Yeah might do. I miss you_

It takes a lot to tell Harry those three words. Zayn’s not good at expressing his feelings, never has been despite Harry being so open about his own. Zayn prefers to tell Harry what he feels through his actions. Harry will tell Zayn that he loves him, and Zayn will reply by riding him for hours. Harry will tell Zayn that he’s the only one who matters, and Zayn will reply by kissing him stupid and letting Harry fuck his mouth even if they have a show just a couple hours later.

But Zayn really fucking misses Harry today, because they’ve been together 24/7 and still not able to even hold hands, always surrounded by people who _don’t know can’t know get a grip don’t show it be careful_. So Zayn tells Harry that he misses him, or well, writes it, more like.

Harry reads the text but it takes him a couple minutes to reply. When he does, all he says is _miss u too babe coming back now wait for me_.

Zayn knows they don’t have time, they never have fucking time lately, but he sighs and secretly appreciates Harry probably running back just to see him before someone comes to drag Zayn to have his hair done. He doesn’t have the chance to think much else before the door quietly opens, and Harry steps in.

Zayn can’t believe it, when he finally sees Harry’s outfit for the AMAs.

Harry frowns as the door clicks shut behind him. “What? You don’t like it?” he asks, mutters, looking down at his shirt.

Harry’s wearing a kurta.

A fucking kurta, which looks like someone sewed it on him (which is probably the truth), draped on Harry’s broad shoulders in a simple black shade, with golden and silver embroideries around the opening under the neckline.

Zayn is producing a ridiculous amount of saliva, but when he gulps down, his mouth is parched. “Fuck” he’s just able to say as he manages to stand up from the bed without tripping and splitting his head open.

Harry chuckles. “Oh, never mind. I can see you like it now”

Zayn thinks he might be having a sex dream. Harry’s there wearing – and fucking _rocking_ – Pakistani clothes and all smirky and sultry like he wants to devour Zayn, or let Zayn devour him, or both, and he’s leaning his back into the closed door with his arms crossed and his hair looks fucking perfect.

Harry’s eyes are not on Zayn’s face, but lower, much lower, and when he follows Harry’s gaze Zayn realizes what Harry means.

Zayn is hard, which is fucking understandable if you ask him, of course he’ll be hard if Harry’s just strolling around in that shirt. Zayn shrugs. “Your fault” he just says.

Harry grins. “I’ll make up for it then” he declares, and a moment later he’s sauntering forward, closing the distance between them and then they’re kissing.

Harry’s hands slide up Zayn’s neck until his fingers rest against his jaws, ghosting over the curve there while Harry opens his mouth and chases Zayn’s tongue with his own.

If Zayn hadn’t noticed he was hard before, now it’s painful, even, and he wants nothing more than pull Harry back to bed where they both belong and say goodbye to whatever else they have in their life so that they can just be there and fuck and laugh and kiss and eat and fuck again.

Zayn doesn’t want to be in the band anymore, and Harry knows. But when they kiss, Zayn manages to convince himself there’s at least one thing that can keep him there for a while longer.

As long as Harry needs him like this, touches him like this and sighs like this in his mouth, then Zayn is gonna be there.

It’s right in that moment that Zayn tries to grab Harry’s wrists and shove him on the bed so that he can fucking _ruin_ him in that kurta, but he never manages, because Harry just stops kissing him and sinks to his knees, easy like water, like he’s been born exactly to kneel in front of Zayn.

His long fingers hook under the waistband of Zayn’s pants, the only thing he’s wearing.

“Haz, babe? Your shirt” Zayn warns him, but he knows deep in his heart that half the reason he’s so fucking hard just from kissing is exactly the shirt. The shirt they’re about to make a mess of and Caroline will kill them.

Harry grins and then sighs dramatically. “The things I do for love” he declares.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t quote _Game of Thrones_ at me when you’re about to give me head, babe”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t fucking care about the shirt. I care about your cock. In my mouth. Now”

It’s just so _Harry_ , to be able to look so innocent and then spill filth out of his lips like it’s nothing, like it isn’t making Zayn even harder.

Zayn’s hands grab two fistfuls of Harry’s hair. “Sometimes I want to fucking _ruin_ you, Harry” he says, murmurs it like it’s a secret someone’s ripping out of him.

Harry’s eyes are clear and intent when he looks up at Zayn. “I don’t want anything else. Just stay. Stay and ruin me all you want”

Zayn knows what Harry means. He knows what he means by _stay_ , knows Harry doesn’t mean stay in the room in that moment, but stay in the band, stay with _him_.

Zayn doesn’t know if he can do the first. But he knows he wants to do the latter, because Zayn doubts he’ll ever feel like this for anyone else.

Harry’s there, asking Zayn to ruin him, and he doesn’t realize that he’s already ruined Zayn just the same.

Harry wraps his lips around Zayn’s cock. And as soon as he bobs his head once, and Zayn hisses a choked “Fuck”, someone knocks on the door.

“Zayn!” it’s Niall. “Paul said you need to wake the fuck up and go get dressed before he comes to get you himself. I know you’re awake and I know Harry’s in there. Just giving you a heads up”

Harry smiles and stands up. Zayn curses a bit louder at the loss of contact, and quickly tucks himself back in when he sees Harry go straight for the door to open it.

Niall looks bomb even in just a black t-shirt and black jeans, Zayn thinks with a smile. He’s also arching an eyebrow. “Haz, you look like you were just giving head” Niall tells Harry bluntly.

Harry chuckles, and then looks at Zayn. “The things I do for love” he says, again, and then vanishes into the en-suite.

“Get that stiffy away or your tailored trousers won’t fit you” Niall says, to Zayn, with a snicker.

When did his life become _Tailored Trousers_?, he thinks with a defeated sigh.

Niall sighs sympathetically and pats him on the shoulder. “He knew the shirt was gonna make you pop a boner” he says “He said he wants to see if he’ll manage to get you on stage with a boner as well, if we win”

Zayn snorts and looks at the closed door of the bathroom. “Probably will. He always wins” he admits.

Niall stares at Zayn for a moment. “You always let him” he says, and his tone is more serious than his face.

Zayn sighs. “The things I do for love” he murmurs.

 

*

 

Zayn is now sure Harry’s doing it on purpose. It’s like he’s decided to wear everything that makes Zayn too hot and bothered tonight, because if the kurta wasn’t enough already, he’s put a metaphorical cherry on the top of his head as well, with that fucking hat.

Zayn has always thought that Harry is at his most beautiful and sensual when he’s naked in bed, arms splayed on each side of his head and looking at Zayn to beckon him closer, but the way Harry looks tonight is definitely a close second.

“You’re drooling, Z” Liam tells him, good-naturedly and with a grin, as they make their way along the red carpet, flashes blinding Zayn and making him just a bit number.

Zayn has the decency of looking embarrassed and manages to stop staring at Harry to look at Liam.

Liam is still smiling. “’S okay, mate. You know you’re… safe, with us, yeah?”

Zayn kinda hates the attentive tone Liam is using. He feels like all the lads are treating him with gloves since he’s voiced his feelings of wanting to leave, if One Direction doesn’t take a proper, _longer_ , break soon.

Harry is that kind of annoyingly wary too, to an extent. He does it only when he thinks Zayn isn’t paying attention, when Zayn is doing something else and Harry will slip some of his own food into Zayn’s plate, like Zayn hasn’t counted every single vegetable and meatball in his plate at least ten times already, like he won’t notice Harry’s not so subtle attempts at making him eat more.

Zayn hates it, that they all think he’s weak.

He is. He just doesn’t want them to think it.

“Haz has gone above and beyond to make you enjoy tonight, so I think he’ll just appreciate it, if you drool” Liam snickers, oblivious to Zayn’s internal monologue.

Zayn smiles. Liam is a good lad, Zayn knows he loves him. He doesn’t want Liam to think Harry’s the only reason he’s ‘enjoying’ the night.

He pats Liam on the shoulder, and they all come to a stop in front of an army of paps, the white wall of the American Music Awards behind them.

Zayn doesn’t know how it happens, but suddenly Liam and Harry have switched places, and now Harry’s by his side, half a smile on his lips as he stares at the paps.

Zayn wants Harry to look at him, not them. It’s probably the only thing he still wants.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to get a grip and not look like his cat just died in all the pics they’re taking.

Harry, innocent Harry who can whisper filth about wanting to be spanked and choked while still looking like a fucking cherub, doesn’t spare Zayn a glance. He can’t, Zayn knows it, but it still drives him insane.

Harry can’t look at him, but the thing is, he doesn’t need to. Because Harry _knows_. He probably senses Zayn’s anger and defeat and discomfort anyway, and Zayn has to fight himself with all his might not to gape and look like a fool when he feels Harry’s hand brush his.

Harry loves the risk.

He loved it right from the start, when they were still just having ‘friendly snogs and handjobs between mates’ every chance they got, and Harry decided it was a brilliant idea to wear a candy thong on stage and have Zayn eat it off him in front of an arena filled with thousands of people.

He loved it in San Siro, when he told the world that if he were a girl he’d do Niall, knowing that it would make Zayn pop a blood vessel and drag him backstage during the next break to suck him off at record speed and tell him _it’s me, not Niall, me, only me_ with his words sounding muffled and ridiculous while having Harry’s cock down his throat.

He loved it at the X-Factor USA, after they performed _Midnight Memories_ , and Harry fucked Zayn into the wall of their dressing room knowing they shared that wall with Simon Cowell’s own room.

And he loves it now, slowly stroking Zayn’s hand right in front of a sea of paparazzi, cameras, VIPs.

Zayn smiles.

Harry loves the risk, but that doesn’t mean Zayn loves it any less than him.

So he keeps his hand there, and smirks, and he can’t wait for the fans to piece the night together and make YouTube videos about it that he can go and look for, watching them on repeat with the anonymous account he won’t ever admit he created exactly for this purpose.

 

*

 

Zayn hates interviews.

When he first tried out for the X-Factor, he didn’t know being a famous singer included more speaking than actually singing.

He especially hates it right now, as they’re on the red carpet talking to some fancy-clothed woman from _Extra’s_ , because he’s tuned out of the conversation for a single second and now somehow Liam’s looking at Harry and saying “We love bottoms”.

Zayn stares at Liam with his best discreet ‘what the fuck Leeyum’ look, and Liam just chuckles, the little shit.

And then, the girl just goes and asks it.

“Zayn, there are some rumours that you are leaving the band, is that true?”

The lads all joke a bit too cheerfully about it for it to look genuine, Zayn thinks. He doesn’t catch what Harry says, because Liam’s also talking over him, and Zayn feels so overwhelmed in that moment that he’s just tempted to let them have their fucking jokes and entirely bypass the question.

But he can’t, because the woman with the mic is still looking at him, expecting an answer, so Zayn provides it. “Um, that’s the first I’ve heard of that” he says “I’m here, I’m fine, we’re a band”

He says it like it’s rehearsed, and he knows it, because he can hear himself speaking and he can feel just how tense Harry’s whole body has gone beside him.

“If he is, he’s not doing a very good job” Harry says, referring to Zayn leaving, and while he says it, he quickly brushes Zayn’s back with his hand.

The interviewer laughs. “Are you a hologram right now?” she asks Zayn.

Zayn smirks. He knows how to do this, how to be fake, he feels like it’s all he does when he’s not alone with Harry. He flicks the loose strand of hair in front of his eyes. “Yeah exactly, I’m not real” he says, sending her a sultry glance.

Laughter ensues, and Harry’s not touching Zayn anymore, and Zayn can see how fake Harry’s own laughs are.

He tries to shrug it off. They can make it up to each other later. When they’re alone and they don’t need to be fake.

Harry’s pissed, though, Zayn can see it in the tilt of his jaw and the unreadableness of his eyes. So when the interviewer asks them which artists they’re excited to see, Zayn kinda expects Harry’s answer.

“Well, Ariana’s always good” he says.

Zayn hates it, when Harry does that. When he completely stops looking at Zayn and starts using everything he says to get to Zayn instead. For Christ’s sake, Zayn didn’t even _do_ anything. There was no need to throw Ariana Grande into the mix, because mentioning Ariana Grande makes Zayn think of the song Harry wrote, the song that was for _Zayn_ and then Harry went and _gifted_ it to someone else, a stranger, _someone else_.

“Are there any rappers on tonight?” Zayn asks, looking directly at Harry so that Harry is forced to look back at him if he doesn’t want it to be too weird.

Harry also knows what Zayn means, when he mentions rappers. It means _I don’t like the music we make, I like_ their _kind of music, I don’t wanna be here and you know it and you gave_ my _song away_.

Harry doesn’t reply. Liam, Louis and Niall are quick to speak over each other and divert the interviewer’s attention from Zayn and Harry, because there might be a lot of things wrong with One Direction, but those four lads are still the people who know Zayn best in the world, more than his mother, more than himself.

They make a quick job of getting to a wrap for the brief interview, and soon enough they’re moving on, thankfully to their seats inside the venue, where Zayn can at least get some peace before they win. Because they’re gonna win, that much is obvious. The music they make is not what Zayn likes, but he knows it’s what _the rest of the world_ likes.

Harry doesn’t say a word to him. Not even when Zayn actively tries to talk to him. He just smiles tightly and on he goes, speaking to the lads and stopping to say hi to people, talking to everyone except Zayn.

Zayn doesn’t really get it, and he’s getting angry too, if he’s honest. What the fuck’s wrong with Harry? Zayn knows that him wanting to leave is more of an issue for Harry than even for their management, but it’s not like Zayn opened the topic, and he knows it’s a fake rumour anyway, because the only people who know are Harry, Louis, Liam and Niall. Harry can’t be mad at Zayn over something that is not even a concrete issue, not yet.

When they take a seat, he carefully makes sure he’s sitting next to Harry, and leans over to whisper in his ear. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, Haz?”

Harry takes a sharp breath. “Bathroom” he just says, and flies away from his seat.

They’ve done this a thousand times, sneaking into loos at a separate time not to be suspicious, so Zayn waits, although he doubts Harry wants to have a quickie in the AMAs loo. That’s too big of a risk even for _them_.

When a respectable amount of time has passed, Zayn apologizes to Liam, Niall and Louis as he walks on their feet to get out of the seat row, and makes a beeline for the corridor in which Harry has disappeared.

As soon as he opens the door of the men’s restroom, he’s yanked forward by a big hand grabbing the lapels of his jacket, and then Harry’s shoving him in a stall, locking the door and then facing him with his eyes in slits.

“What the fuck, babe?” Zayn asks, sighing and leaning his back into the tiled wall.

Harry looks fucking gorgeous, and Zayn hopes for a second that he really wants to have that quickie, because that kurta and that hat are doing things to him.

Harry inhales. “Were you flirting with that woman, and with the whole fucking world looking at us through the camera?”

It’s so _stupid_ , and so _Harry_ , that _that_ is the problem. Zayn doesn’t want to upset Harry more, because he knows that Harry upset enough means not getting laid even if tonight is probably the only free night they’ll have for who knows how long, but he really can’t contain himself.

Zayn snorts and laughs in Harry’s face.

Harry looks utterly affronted. “And now you’re laughing at me” he states.

Zayn nods. “I’m sorry, babe, I’m sorry, but I thought you were mad”

“I _am_ mad!” Harry hisses “What the fuck did you think you were doing, _Yeah exactly I’m not real_? Did you _see_ how she _looked_ at you?”

“No, Haz, I didn’t, because I was too busy thinking you were getting upset at the question about me leaving the fucking band” Zayn says, forcing himself to calm down and be serious.

Harry freezes for a moment. He blinks, and then shakes his head. “No, babe, of course not. It’s not like you opened the subject. And it’s a fake rumour anyway, right? No one… no one knows, and you don’t know either yet, right? I mean you don’t know what you wanna do, what…”

Zayn kisses him. Because he can feel how nervous and jittery Harry is about the whole deal, and Zayn has never been able to stand it, watching Harry work himself into a state.

It’s not entirely true, what Harry said. Zayn does know what he wants to do. He just doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the bollocks to actually do it, so he’ll let Harry have his little bubble of hope, for now.

They kiss for a while, and Zayn desperately wants to fuck Harry in that shirt, but he knows they can’t. Their absence will be noticed and the lads will kill them and then Simon and Paul will kill them all over again.

Harry smirks, looking infinitely more relaxed, and a second later his hand is on Zayn’s crotch, cupping his dick through his Tailored Trousers. Harry doesn’t say a word, just kisses Zayn again, and then goes out of the loo stall in a dramatic swirl of curls, leaving Zayn only with a smirk of his own and the lingering scent of Harry’s coconut shampoo.

 

*

 

Harry is a massive shithead, and that’s probably the very first reason why Zayn loves him.

Because he does. Love Harry. Even if he almost never says it out loud.

But Harry _is_ a massive shithead, because right when the host is enumerating the nominees for Pop Rock Album, he leans to brush his lips against the shell of Zayn’s ear, and whispers. “Tie me up when we get back to the hotel, yeah, babe? Tie my wrists to the headboard and fuck me with the kurta still on”

“One Direction!” the host screams.

Zayn feels his dick fatten up instantly, vivid images of how Harry would look with his wrists tied to the headboard, the shirt on, and nothing else. He would look completely _wrecked_ , his arms straining against the restraints, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted.

Zayn goes on stage with a boner, just like Harry planned. Because Harry is a massive shithead, and Zayn loves the fuck out of him.

Harry notices, and smirks proudly, while the rest of the world mistakes that smirk as pride for being the winners. But Zayn knows, and he can’t help but smirk just like Harry, because he loves the risk as well, probably just as much as Harry does.

“You look good” he mouths at Harry, gesturing with his head to the prize Harry’s holding, knowing that Harry knows he’s really gesturing to the fucking shirt.

Harry smirks some more. “You too, thanks” he mouths back, politely mocking him.

 _The things I do for love_ , Zayn thinks with a grin.

 


	2. Bindings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s giving him The Gaze. It’s the gaze that has fucked over tons of women, and some men too, the gaze that says _come hither_ and _ruin me_ and _I want to ruin you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the characters present in this work.  
> This chapter is porn with admittedly a barely-there plot. It's just an occasion to practice my smut scenes, really. Sorry not sorry.

 

 

It’s really late when they finally crawl into the cars, after the AMAs and the interviews and the party. They’re in a limo that night, which Zayn hates because he finds it so posh, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. He can’t do anything about anything, really.

He’s tired, and the suit he’s now worn for hours is starting to itch. He’s tired, so tired, but the tiredness goes to fuck itself as soon as he makes eye-contact with Harry sitting in the opposite limo seat, right in front of Zayn.

Harry’s giving him The Gaze. It’s the gaze that has fucked over tons of women, and some men too, the gaze that says _come hither_ and _ruin me_ and _I want to ruin you_.

Zayn is instantly reminded about what Harry whispered in his ear just a second before they had to go on stage. _Tie me up when we get back to the hotel, yeah, babe? Tie my wrists to the headboard and fuck me with the kurta still on_.

Zayn knows the other lads can’t read his mind, but he feels like his thought and arousal are about to be physically evident, so he tries to avert his eyes from Harry.

Harry’s not having it, though, because he slightly and discreetly kicks Zayn in the ankle, and when Zayn looks at him again, his smirk and eyes say _don’t ignore me or your thoughts are gonna stay just thoughts_.

Zayn is hoping for one of the lads to save him from the erection slowly swelling in his pants, but Liam, Louis and Niall look even more tired than he feels, and they’re just drifting off, various degrees of sleep on their faces. Harry, on the contrary, is wide awake, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Zayn stares at him, the long, lean lines of his legs and arms, and Harry never interrupts their eye-contact. Not even when he slowly slides a hand up his own stomach and chest, crumpling the kurta in his wake, and rests his index in the gap under the neckline.

Zayn shivers. “Stop it” he mouths at Harry, and then makes sure the partition between them and the driver is rolled up.

Harry just smirks. “Why? The lads are asleep already” he whispers.

Zayn looks at Niall, Louis and Liam, and realizes they’re really already sleeping. Liam and Niall are sat next to Harry, their heads propped against each other and snoring softly. Louis is on Zayn’s same seat, scrunched against the limo door, his temple plastered to the window.

He turns his head to Harry again, and finds him looking very relaxed and slouched with his back against the leather backrest of the seat, his legs opened and a hand massaging his own dick through his trousers.

“Fuck” Zayn murmurs, a bit in awe of the way the kurta has risen over Harry’s hips, exposing the laurel leaves tattooed there.

Harry chuckles.

“They can wake up any second” Zayn reminds him in barely a whisper, worriedly eyeing the lads but too turned on to try and stop Harry.

Harry shrugs. “They won’t if you’re a good boy and shut up”

Zayn knows every crevice of Harry’s body and mind, and he knows exactly what Harry’s doing. He’s riling Zayn up, pushing the limit to see when Zayn’s gonna snap and take charge.

Zayn is, admittedly, very close to that. “I’m always a good boy. You, on the other hand, have been pissy and bratty all night”

Harry’s eyes flash. He’s still palming himself, and Zayn can see the outline of his hard-on through his trousers. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, spank me?” Harry asks, chuckling.

“Maybe I won’t, since you seem to like it so much” Zayn retorts.

Harry’s eyes flash again, and the next second he’s standing up, very carefully and silently for someone who trips on air on a daily basis. He slides in the seat next to Zayn, in the wide space between him and Louis, and Zayn warily shots a glance at Louis. He’s still soundly asleep, though.

Then Zayn stops worrying altogether, because Harry’s lips end on his, and they’re kissing, and Harry’s hand is between his legs. “I missed you so much” Harry murmurs, his palm providing a friction on Zayn’s own erection that makes him sigh.

“We’ve been together all the time” Zayn replies, but he knows what Harry means.

Harry chuckles. “Don’t be a dick, you know what I mean”

Zayn rarely initiates heavy stuff unless Harry explicitly asks for it. But it has really been quite some time since they had time for more than just a quick, tired fuck, so he doesn’t think about it, and lets his hand rise to wrap around Harry’s throat, delicately, not pressing, just engulfing it. “Yeah, babe” he whispers on Harry’s lips when Harry’s breath hitches “It’s been a long time”

Harry’s eyelids are fluttering, and Zayn can hear the quickening of his pulse under his hand. “I need you to fuck me, Zayn, as soon as we get back” he says, moans “I’ve been going fucking crazy, babe, I…”

Zayn tuts, his hand still in place on Harry’s neck. “Maybe I won’t. Not after that strop you threw back at the venue”

Harry looks positively horrified at the thought that Zayn might actually not intend to fuck him into the mattress, and Zayn laughs a little, removing his hand from Harry’s throat to grab his chin and kiss him. “I love you, Haz” he says. It’s like it gets ripped out of him, every time he says that, but he’s decided he doesn’t wanna care about anything except Harry that night, Harry smiling and kissing him and looking at him like Zayn’s something precious and important.

“I love you too” Harry whispers, licking at the roof of Zayn’s mouth, their faces so close that Harry’s eyelashes tickle Zayn’s cheeks when Harry blinks.

“Oi, get a room” Louis mutters on a yawn.

Harry is quick to remove his hand, which was still on Zayn’s crotch, and Zayn reluctantly lets him go to grimace at Louis. Louis rolls his eyes. “You two are disgusting” he states “It’s like watching a married couple, really” he adds, and the fond way he says it clashes with his attempt at having a pissed expression.

Zayn chuckles and leans over Harry to kick Louis in the leg. Harry’s hand quickly goes around his waist, like he’s scared Zayn’s gonna fall off the seat.

“See?” Louis says arching an eyebrow “Disgusting”

 

*

 

Harry’s tearing at Zayn’s clothes as soon as they step beyond the threshold of Zayn’s room. Zayn barely has time to close the door, and Harry’s hands are everywhere, fumbling with buttons and the belt, and Zayn really wants to tear Harry apart, but he wants to do it _slow_.

They haven’t had anything but quick and fast and tired in the past month.

He wants to ruin Harry at his own time, he thinks.

So he grabs Harry’s wrists, roughly, and shoves Harry in the door so that he’s forced to stop and listen to Zayn. “I’m gonna take my time with you, babe, yeah?” he asks, licking the shell of Harry’s ear “And you’re gonna take whatever I give you, _when_ I give it to you, in _my_ time”

Harry nods furiously. “Yeah. Yeah, Zayn. whatever you want, I want everything, I want it I want it I want it” he says, frantically.

Zayn nods too. “Hands off me, then” he says, kinda orders, and he doesn’t have to fake the firm, rough voice, because _that’s_ what Harry does to him, that’s what he’s able to turn Zayn into. “On the bed. Now”

Harry almost flies from where he is to fling himself on the bed, and Zayn momentarily imagines a cartoon version of him, bolting away while his hat and jacket remain into place, floating.

He turns, and Harry’s on the bed, sitting with his legs opened, still completely dressed and looking expectantly at Zayn with even his hat still on his head.

Zayn would leave him there just to look at him, for ages. If he had that kind of patience.

But he doesn’t, and he’s already too hard in his Tailored Trousers, so he takes a step to be in front of Harry by the foot of the bed, towering over him the way he never can when they’re both standing.

Harry slides with his bum across the expensive bedsheets, so that then he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, his legs opened on each side of Zayn’s knees, and he raises his head to look at Zayn in the eyes, the hat still on his head and casting shadows on his face in the dim light coming from the bedside table.

Zayn smiles down at him, and flicks the hat off Harry’s head with his index.

Harry drives his hands up Zayn’s sides, until they reach Zayn’s shoulders and make Zayn’s jacket shrug off. The jacket lands on the floor with a soft rustle. “That’s expensive” Zayn comments, arching an eyebrow.

Harry chuckles. “You don’t care about clothes”

Zayn hums, running his fingertips across the golden and silver embroideries of Harry’s kurta. “Not mine, anyway” he says, slowly getting rid of Harry’s jacket.

It’s the trousers’ turn next, Zayn peeling Harry’s off his long legs and chucking them away, and Harry tugging Zayn’s down until they pool at his feet and Zayn has to step out of them. More clothes go away afterwards, Zayn’s shirt, Harry’s socks, their pants.

By the end of it, the only item of clothing still being worn is Harry’s kurta.

Harry’s hard and leaking over the hem of the shirt, and Zayn can see the wet spot, which is what almost makes him come without even starting yet.

He takes a breath, and then bends forward to kiss Harry, just a quick peck on the lips, and when Harry tilts his head to have more, Zayn smiles and doesn’t oblige. “Headboard” he says.

Harry shivers bodily. Then he nods and slides back, until his back hits the headboard, and stares at Zayn, waiting and lightly shaking in anticipation.

Zayn grins to himself as he takes his time to reach his suitcase and look for what he needs. He’s painfully hard, much like Harry, and his cock is straining against his lower stomach, but he wills himself to calm down a little, because this needs to be slow.

Slow and good, and he wants to see Harry beg.

When he finally finds two ties among the rest of his clothes, he turns to face Harry again. He’s still there, sitting and waiting like a shy virgin, and Zayn finds it impossible, how Harry can be that, and also the person who can ask Zayn to choke him just seconds before the start of a show.

But that’s Harry, Harry who likes to fuck Zayn from behind and leave bruises on his hips and also likes to give up all his control and be dominated.

Zayn didn’t even know how good sex could be, before he had it with Harry.

It feels like everything Zayn knows and loves starts and ends with Harry, and Zayn wouldn’t have it any other way, because Harry keeps him tethered to the ground, no matter if they’re singing in front of thousands of people or fucking against the railing of a hotel balcony.

It’s Harry, and Zayn loves him.

That’s why he wants _this_ to be good for Harry. They deserve it, for how they’ve both been good boys and put the band first, spending more time in the recording booth than with each other for weeks.

He crawls on his knees on the bed, caging Harry’s hips between them, and before he can even speak, Harry’s offering his wrists to Zayn, silently, like something sacred.

Zayn takes his left one, and brings it to the headboard, where he ties it with one of his black ties. He makes sure it’s tight enough to stay in place, but not so much that it stops Harry’s circulation, and then reserves the same gentle treatment to the other wrist.

When he’s done, Harry’s arms are wide open, his fingers brushing the restraints while he slowly tests them, and both their breaths are laboured.

“So fucking beautiful” Zayn murmurs, looking at the bindings, the shirt, Harry’s flushed face.

Harry takes a shaky breath. “You” he just replies.

Zayn smiles, and kisses him. Harry goes willingly, but Zayn feels him tug at the ties, like he already wants to be able to touch.

Zayn licks his way into Harry’s mouth slowly, tasting the champagne they had at the AMAs and the mints Harry constantly sucks on, and then cups Harry’s face as he speaks on his lips. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, babe” he whispers “And you’re gonna take it because you love it”

Harry nods. “You said you wanted to ruin me” he sighs “I don’t want anything else, Zayn”

Zayn nods too. They’ve been together for two years now, and they’ve experimented a lot with each other, sexually and emotionally. They have a safe-word, and safe-gestures they can use if they can’t speak, and Zayn trusts Harry to tell him if it becomes too much, so he isn’t worried about anything he does to Harry, or Harry to him.

By the look in Harry’s eyes, though, he’s never been that far away from using their safe codes, not even when Zayn stands up on the bed, props his hand on the headboard and forcibly feeds his cock into Harry’s already open and welcoming mouth.

Harry gags from the momentum, but Zayn doesn’t stop, because Harry loves it when Zayn makes him gag just as much as Zayn loves hearing Harry do so. Harry’s mouth is warm and tight, and Zayn slides back out completely before pushing forward again, the tip already hitting Harry’s throat for how relaxed it is.

“You’re already doing so good, babe” Zayn praises Harry “Can you take more? Do you want more?”

Harry manages to nod, tugging at the restraints and bobbing his head.

Zayn pets his hair. “So good, so good” he repeats, bucking his hips harder.

Harry gags again, louder, and Zayn hesitates for a moment, but when he tries to slip his dick out of Harry’s mouth, Harry’s head follows his movement and his mouth doesn’t let Zayn go. Zayn smiles, feeling himself in the pocket of Harry’s cheek, and he thrusts forward again.

Harry raises his eyes to look at Zayn, and he looks positively _filthy_ down there, his hands tied and the shirt still on, as he sucks just as eagerly as Zayn keeps thrusting.

Zayn grabs a fistful of Harry’s hair, and makes Harry’s mouth move faster on his dick. Harry takes it all, because Harry loves to give, but also loves to take whatever Zayn wants him to take, and they both know.

Zayn watches his dick appear and disappear in the circle of Harry’s lips, and he’s already feeling too close, so he stops his movements and slides out of Harry’s mouth with a wet sound that almost makes him come.

Harry’s breathless and he leans his head into the headboard, panting and retrieving some air as Zayn falls to his knees again and gets off the bed to grab the lube. He finds it in his backpack, and tosses it next to Harry on the bed before crawling back over him, kissing his own taste away from Harry’s tongue and dragging his nails down Harry’s sides, over the shirt.

Harry hisses at the friction, and his hips buck. “Please” he murmurs, clearly wanting Zayn to pay attention to his erection.

Zayn smirks. “Patience, babe” he whispers, and leaves a trail of kisses on Harry’s neck until he reaches the neckline of the shirt.

The texture is soft under his lips, as he goes down and down on Harry’s stomach, kissing the fabric, open-mouthed, leaving wet patches in the wake of his mouth.

Harry sighs and whimpers under his ministrations, the bed shaking whenever he tugs at the ties. “Fuck, Zayn, please, please” he begs, already wrecked.

Zayn wants to wreck him _more_.

“How could you ever be jealous” he murmurs once his lips are on Harry’s lower belly, at the hem of the shirt “When all I thought tonight was doing this” he adds, and keeps kissing Harry, lower, even lower, bypassing his cock completely in favour of dragging the tip of his tongue along the rim of the shirt.

Harry’s hips buck, harder, the headboard rattling. It makes Zayn almost lose his balance from where he’s crouched in between Harry’s legs, and he raises his head to look at him. Harry bites down on his bottom lip, and Zayn doesn’t speak, just places a hand on Harry’s stomach and presses, to keep him still.

Harry sighs, and leans his back against the headboard, his arms straining.

Zayn smirks, and then swallows Harry whole without any warning.

Harry shouts. “Fuck, Zayn, oh, fuck” he moans while Zayn just licks along the vein on the underside, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Harry’s kurta on his hips.

Zayn doesn’t do anything major, just keeps lazily licking up and down Harry’s dick, but you’d think he’s deepthroating Harry from the way he writhes and squirms under his mouth and hands.

The bindings are doing all the work of riling Harry up for him, Zayn thinks with a smirk.

He cants his hips against the soft cottons of the mattress, to get some friction for himself, because he’s not doing that much better than Harry, if he’s honest.

When he has enough, he removes his mouth from Harry’s dick to get the lube.

“No no no please Zayn I’m so close I’m so close” Harry whines, tugging at the ties.

Zayn chuckles, and hovers with his face over Harry’s. “Be quiet” he orders “Or I won’t let you come at all”

Harry’s mouth instantly snaps closed. Zayn chuckles again. “Good boy” he praises, not resisting the urge to lightly pat him on the cheek. Harry heaves a sigh, but keeps doing what Zayn wants, and doesn’t speak.

Zayn finally gets a hold of the lube, uncapping the small, half-empty bottle and coating his fingers in it before crouching between Harry’s legs again and leaving feather-like kisses on his hips and thighs while he breaches him with one finger. He’s particularly tight, and Zayn frowns, raising his eyes for a moment. “Haven’t gotten off that way since the last time you did it to me” Harry pants.

Zayn hasn’t fucked Harry in two weeks. They’ve had sex whenever they could, of course, but it’s been the other way round, with Zayn bottoming.

“Fuck, babe” Zayn murmurs “Were you _waiting_ for me?”

Harry nods. “It’s only you, Zayn. My fingers aren’t enough, only you, only you”

Zayn sighs a smile. “You’re gonna drive me mad some day” he says, and he means it, even if it’s clear how _he’s_ driving Harry mad now by keeping it at one finger.

Harry huffs a laugh. “You started driving _me_ mad four years ago, babe” he comments.

Zayn chuckles, and rewards Harry’s lovely statement by adding another finger. Harry moans when the fingers become three, and they brush his prostate every time Zayn crooks them.

Harry starts squirming again, and Zayn uses his free hand to press on his stomach again, harder than earlier, pushing Harry’s back half against the pillows, and half against the headboard.

Harry lets out a sinful groan, his eyelids trembling and his arms straining more and more in their restraints.

Zayn can’t suppress a gasp. “You like it?” he asks, pressing his hand some more on Harry’s stomach “When I hold you down like this?”

Harry nods, curls bouncing and abs contracting under Zayn’s hand and the soft fabric of the kurta. The material is damp with sweat.

“Fuck, Haz, babe” Zayn sighs “We’ve been fucking for more than two years and you’re still able to surprise me”

Harry doesn’t answer, but he moans just a little bit louder when Zayn presses his hand down even more.

Harry has no shame when it comes to sex. He’ll ask for anything he wants to try, and then he’ll ask for it again when he knows he likes it. Tonight, though, the only thing he’s asked for are the restraints, like he wants Zayn to take care of the rest, to figure out what he wants this time.

Zayn knows, though, because he can read Harry like his favourite book.

So he removes his hand, and slicks up his cock, forgoing the condom like they started doing since last time they got tested. They aren’t fucking anyone else, so it’s okay, and Zayn thinks the feeling of being inside Harry without any barrier, as well as the feeling of having Harry inside of him bare, is as addicting as any drug.

He grabs Harry’s legs and pulls them up, draping them over his shoulders. Harry’s arms are still tied up, and Zayn can see the muscles bulge under the exertion. It mustn’t be a comfortable position, but Harry looks utterly wrecked, like he doesn’t want to be in any other position.

Zayn slams into him in one long, hard thrust, while at the same time pressing Harry into the mattress.

Harry screams, his eyes shooting open and his head tilting backwards as far as the headboard allows. Zayn is extremely glad that the rooms next to his are empty, because he doubts they can control themselves that night, and he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep staring down at Harry and watch him be torn apart by his cock like it’s the only thing Harry wants.

Zayn stays still for a moment, buried deep inside of Harry, watching Harry’s chest rise and fall rapidly under the black kurta, flushed against the sparkling of the embroideries at the neckline.

And then he slides the hand on Harry’s stomach up and up, until it’s wrapping around Harry’s throat like it was in the car.

Only, this time Zayn presses slightly, feeling Harry’s pulse accelerate wildly, and his whole long body shiver under him. “Fuck, yes, Zayn, yes” Harry gasps, chokes.

Zayn smiles, tightening his grip a bit more, and starts slamming his hips back and forth at the same time. Harry’s throat flutters under his palm, and he’s pulling at the ties on his wrists like he wants to break free, but he doesn’t want that, not really, because Zayn knows Harry’s limits, and he’s _loving_ being completely exposed and without the slightest control over what they’re doing.

Harry’s dick is wet for how much it’s leaking in between their stomachs. “Don’t come” Zayn grunts over the slippery sounds of his hips smacking against the backs of Harry’s thighs “Don’t come or I’ll stop right away”

Harry nods, whimpers and swears, and Zayn presses him down by the throat some more, feeling Harry’s whole body rock with his thrusts. He makes sure Harry’s head isn’t hitting the headboard, though. Harry likes to be choked and tied up, but Zayn’s somehow sure he wouldn’t like a concussion.

“You’re so fucking filthy, babe” Zayn whispers when he releases Harry’s throat and Harry gags on nothing “So fucking filthy and I love it so fucking much”

“Fuck me harder” Harry just begs “Harder, Zayn, I want more”

“Always so greedy” Zayn scolds him, but he can’t help but smile as he digs his fingers in Harry’s sides, clutching the kurta and the meat on Harry’s hips, and staring at the red marks of his hand on Harry’s neck.

Zayn slides out to the tip and then pounds back in, and the headboard hits the wall with dull sounds, and Harry’s long, abused throat elongates when he throws his head back on a moan.

Zayn wraps his hand around Harry’s neglected dick, and he barely has time to stroke him twice, and Harry’s already shaking and begging Zayn with his eyes.

Zayn kisses him. “You can come. Now. I want you to come now”

Harry obeys. He wails and moans, and then he’s spilling over Zayn’s hand, staining his shirt, and Zayn feels himself get closer and closer at the mere sight, so he raises a hand, and unties one of the bindings from Harry’s wrist.

Harry gasps and his hand falls to the pillow, while Zayn takes care of the other restraint.

If he thought Harry was tired and would leave his arms limp on the bed, he’s sorely mistaken, because as soon as Harry’s free, he wraps them around Zayn’s back and scratches it with his nails, hard, from the small of his spine to his neck. Zayn hisses and grunts, feeling the eight lines burn his skin, and that’s how he knows he’s close.

“Come inside me” Harry begs.

Zayn smirks. “No” he says, and pulls out.

Harry moans and frowns, but then he looks at Zayn in the eyes and he understands. His smirk returns right away, and he slides down a bit, to lay down completely under Zayn, his chest and the fucking kurta bared for Zayn like an invitation.

Harry’s hand is now free to reach for Zayn’s cock and stroke him, and it really takes less than three seconds for Zayn to come, spilling all over Harry’s kurta where their come mixes, ruining the shirt that has made Zayn hard for a whole day.

Zayn moans louder than usual, because that’s exactly what he’s been wanting to do every time his eyes have landed on how fucking _edible_ Harry looked in the shirt.

He collapses on top of Harry, not caring about the mess of come and sweat, and Harry’s arms instantly wrap around his middle, delicately stroking his back to soothe the scratches he’s left there.

It burns, and Zayn hisses a little bit. “Sorry I ruined your shirt” he says with a yawn.

Harry chuckles. “Sorry I ruined your back”

Zayn raises his head from Harry’s neck a little, to look at him in the eyes. “The things I do for love” they say together.

Harry laughs. “I knew the kurta was a good idea” he says, like he’s talking to himself.

Zayn’s too tired to even think of a good comeback, so he just chuckles and settles against Harry’s side, his head under Harry’s armpit.

He can stay a while longer, if Harry’s there with him too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, porn with very little plot. I wanted to explore zarry's sexuality a bit more, and someone recently told me I should try to write more canon, so this is what happened.  
> Let me know what you're thinking :)  
> I am also on Tumblr as wont-you-stay-till-the-am.tumblr.com, come hit me up if you wanna talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small thing I wrote after getting less than three hours of sleep in two days.  
> The second chapter of this part of the series will feature what happened after the infamous AMAs.


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